Better in the Long Run
by athenasmirror
Summary: Evelyn learns of Matthew's death and reflects on his own history with Mary Crawley. Series 4-almost entirely canon, but from Evelyn's point of view.
1. The Whole Ghastly Business

It was just an autumn day—a little overcast, maybe, but not unusually so. Evelyn had no way to know that today was the day his life would change forever, in tragic ways, yet ultimately for the better.

He walked from his flat to the office, as usual. The office was dim and smelled of cigarettes, as usual. His boss, Charles Blake, had beaten him to work. As usual.

"Evelyn I want you to look over some of the estates mentioned on page three. See if any of them are worth including in our study." Charles thrust a newspaper in Evelyn's chest then walked off. This was not unusual.

Evelyn was in no hurry to read the article. Well, that is to say, of course he was busy, but things were never quite as urgent as Charles always seemed to believe. So he poured himself tea and found a scone to eat, and then he sat to read about the estates on page three.

It was a York paper, which meant Charles intended to go up north at some point. On the front page was the picture of a man Evelyn had met one time at a dinner party eight years prior. And there, just above this picture, was the newspaper caption that changed Evelyn Napier's life:

**Heir to the Earl of Grantham dies in tragic motoring accident.**

Evelyn read on, feeling a mix of sadness, horror, dread, and one other emotion that he didn't want to name.

_Oh, dear God, no. Not Mary. Not him._

They had a son—an infant son. He didn't know they'd had a son. He had fought in the war, in the trenches—that much Evelyn already knew. But it was painfully ironic that one of his comrades (albeit quite an indirect comrade) should live through that horror just to die in a car crash.

"So what do you think? Shall we add those estates to our studies?"

Evelyn broke away from the front page. Charles was back. "The estates? Oh…of course. Well," he blushed slightly, "as it turns out I learned from the front page that a family friend died just this week, so in truth I haven't even glanced at those estates yet."

Evelyn expected that Charles would be annoyed—not angry, but annoyed. That was sort of Charles's thing. He was not expecting his boss to laugh. But he did, for a moment, then as if he realized just what Evelyn had just said (death and all that) his face became quickly sober. "You have my condolences, my friend. Shall I leave you for a while, or can I go over the estates in question with you now?"

Now Evelyn was the one annoyed, but he wasn't about to let that show. "Now is fine. But you know we won't have a chance to go north for some time, probably months. We have several estates lined up to study already."

"Of course I know that. But look here…"

As Charles droned on about estate management and death taxes, Evelyn thought about Mary Crawley. He thought about her smile, and her eyes. He thought about how warm she had been in her letters to him—and how cold she was to him from the moment she set eyes on Kemal Pamuk. Evelyn tried to remind himself that this was a widow, that she was most certainly beside herself with grief. And here he was trying to push away this annoying feeling of hope.

He thought of Mary Crawley into the evening and into the nighttime hours. He tried to tell himself that these were thoughts of sympathy but he knew there was more to it than that. Mary Crawley had haunted his thoughts and his dreams for eight years.

The last time he'd seen Mary Crawley there was no war on the continent, only rumors. Dozens of his school friends were not yet dead. And they had both been so damn young.

He had told her about his broken engagement, said that it was "probably better this way, in the long run." And had that been a flash of hope in Mary's eyes? For years he wished that he had asked her that day if she would ever reconsider him. But instead he had forged on with the mission to clear his name as the instigator of her own set of ugly rumors, and, frankly, who wanted to talk of romance after that? Instead he had kept silent and those unsaid words would not let him go.

Once, during the war, he sent her a letter asking if he could convalesce in her home. But he couldn't, there were rules about these things, and that was that. The war ended, he recovered (physically, at least—the rest took longer), and she got engaged to a newspaper magnate and then after that her cousin, her father's heir.

It seemed like all things in life had worked out nicely for Mary Crawley and Evelyn believed her dark eyes and his unsaid words would stop haunting him. And for eighteen months they nearly had. Until today and that damn York newspaper.


	2. Why Not Take a Chance?

Evelyn had started pacing in the evenings. No one was there to see it in his London flat, of course. But pace he did. It was less than a fortnight until he and Charles were scheduled to leave for Yorkshire and he not yet decided whether (or not) to call on Lady Mary Crawley while he was there.

Would she think he was pursuing courtship? She would be in at least half mourning for some time still; even if she was interested it was beyond the bounds of propriety. For now, at least.

Yet at some point they had been friends, hadn't they? And it was only polite and natural for a friend to express feelings of sympathy and condolences in person if occasion should permit.

Evelyn wrestled with this on the train from London. He'd be going back to return with Charles later, and the train was not even half full, so he had ample opportunity to try and chase Mary from his brain during his journey. He failed, of course. She was all he could think of anymore.

He was walking through Thirsk when he finally came to a decision.

_Oh, hell. I want to see her. Why not take a chance?_

Evelyn had hoped that making up his mind would calm his nerves. It didn't. He knocked on her front door with one hand while the other hand shook. Well, fidgeted, anyway.

The butler answered. What was his name? Carter? Cardston? Mary had mentioned it once. Evelyn heard himself ask for her just as occurred to him that she might not even be there.

After it was over, some details of the encounter were lost to him forever while others were blazed in his memory. He was led to the library and she was at a writing desk, her hair shining in waves and she wore a lovely blouse of plum that made her eyes—her eyes! _Did they, did she, what was that spark? Happiness? Only surprise? But a pleasant surprise, right?_

His mouth opened and words tumbled out. "Hello, Mary." _Wait, is that appropriate, with years gone and her marriage and widow…ness?_ Evelyn begged his skin not to blush. "If I can still call you Mary."

She was standing to greet him, walking toward him. "Of course you can! How lovely." Mary was smiling, beaming even. She kissed his cheek.

_She kissed my cheek!_ What exact words he said after that or even how he managed to find words, Evelyn did not know. _Am I rambling on about the government? Bugger. Did I really just say reconnoitering?_ "I was Thirsk and I suddenly thought 'Why not take a chance?'" _Did I just say that? Oh dear God, why? So much for subtlety._

But if Mary noticed anything off, Evelyn couldn't tell. "Well, I'm so glad you did." _She's…glad? She's glad! And standing there, and perfect. Wait, now something about tea. Tell her now, Evelyn, tell her…_

"While I've got you alone, you've been in my thoughts a great deal…since the whole…ghastly business." Evelyn felt his hands fidgeting again.

"That's nice to know." Mary was still beaming. _This is good. This is good…_

"Which is why it's lovely to see you looking so, um…" _Oh, damn, why can't I think of any other word? Any word. Really. _"Lovely." _Well don't I sound well-educated._

But Mary smiled and looked down, her cheeks blushing. Then up again and Evelyn saw her that her eyes shone as they did when he walked in. And as he looked at her he said nothing because he could think of only one thing, one word repeating itself in his mind.

_Mary._


	3. Being Witty

"This came for you in the evening post."

Evelyn looked up to see the letter. He recognized the handwriting immediately. "Thank you, Alonzo." He opened the letter eagerly.

_Dear Evelyn,_

_I assure you that I was sincere in my invitation. You and Mr. Blake are most welcome to stay at Downton while you work on your report. Your advice and knowledge on estate management would be quite valuable and welcome. I look forward to enjoying your company again soon._

_Sincerely,  
Mary_

He read the letter three times before putting it down. It was brief and down to business. But then there was that last line—_I look forward to enjoying your company again soon._ Soon. So perhaps her reasons for wanting to see him were not strictly related to her estate? Or had she simply wanted to be polite?

Nearly a decade of friendship with Lady Mary, and Evelyn had yet to figure her out.

Evelyn allowed himself to think about Mary Crawley during his walk to the office. It was a new luxury to him—certainly he had thought about her over the years. But he had tried very hard not to. After her rejection he had vowed to put Mary behind him.

Evelyn was happy with his life. He'd courted his fair share of eligible young women, and he was well traveled. He had not pined for Mary; but neither had he forgotten her. And now that a horrible twist of fate had allowed her back into his life, all of his suppressed feelings, all of the "what ifs" he'd carried with him to the war and beyond rushed back to the surface.

He knew he had to tread carefully. Evelyn realized that Mary had been as pleased to see him as he had been to see her, but that could mean many things. Had she thought about him over the years as well? He hoped to find the answer to that someday but he wanted it to be on her terms. He absolutely would not push her.

Evelyn thought about Mary somewhat less on the drive north. Charles was eager to discuss the failing estates, and Evelyn had to admit he found this fascinating in its own right. Both he and Charles would have their own estates someday, and the information they would gather for their report would be invaluable in keeping those estates afloat for generations to come.

"Are you sure, Charles, that you don't want me to mention your cousin and the estate in Ulster? It might put the Crawleys at ease to know that you share their concerns."

Evelyn could feel Charles's eyes turn to him as he drove the Fiat. "You know I don't like to bring that up, Evelyn. I do see your point, but I don't want them to think I share their prejudices, because I don't. And many an aristocrat would benefit from a fresh opinion."

Evelyn sighed. "All right, then, Charles. I won't mention it to them. But I think you'll find that this isn't a family that's going to pack it in and walk away. I've known Mary Crawley for many years; she is spirited and determined. Her son will inherit the estate someday and I can't see her as the kind to let that go."

Charles looked over Evelyn, trying to read his expression. "Well. We shall see if she lives up to your description or not."

"And soon, too. That's Downton just up around that corner there."

Evelyn expertly pulled the Fiat to a stop in front of the large wooden doors. Evidently they had seen them drive up, as the stately butler and a handsome blond footman stood waiting for them. Evelyn walked into the house, followed by Charles. He couldn't deny that he very much looked forward to seeing Mary again.

She was walking down the main staircase as they arrived, followed closely behind by her mother. Mary smiled when she saw him, her eyes shining as they had at their last meeting. Evelyn felt as if gravity pulled him to Mary more than it kept him on the earth.

"It's so kind of you all to have us," Evelyn began. He fully expected Charles to chime in but instead there was silence. "Isn't it, Charles?" _Hmm. I hope none of them think I was condescending. I suppose that could have just been nerves on his part._

"It is."

Mary was still smiling. "We're anxious to do our bit."

Charles appeared to be puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

Now it was Mary who seemed out of sorts. "Well, you're here to advise the land owners on how to get through this crisis, aren't you?" She glanced at Evelyn then back at Charles. "To save the estates that need saving?" Evelyn froze momentarily. When had he said that? He hadn't meant to give anyone the wrong impression. But, then, knowing he shared her background, perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by her assumptions.

Evelyn did not fail to notice that Charles and Mary's discussion was beginning to escalate. _Should I step in? No...she's a grown woman. And if she dislikes him, well, all the better for me, I suppose._

He noticed Lady Grantham watched Mary and Charles with both concern and amusement. Lady Edith entered the room with a pretty young blonde girl. He assumed this was the Cousin Rose that Mary had mentioned in her letter. Lord Grantham was not far behind them.

"Hello Evelyn," Edith said brightly. Evelyn smiled and returned the hello. But he certainly didn't want her getting any ideas, so he quickly turned to interject himself into Mary and Charles's debate.

"I'm afraid you may find us disappointing guests if you want us to stay up until two in the morning being witty."

"Don't worry, I don't expect Mr. Blake to be witty." Evelyn tried very hard not to laugh. _Mary_ certainly didn't lack wit.

Lady Grantham spoke up. "The gong is run at seven, and we meet in the drawing room at eight. You know, it's Robert's birthday."

"So you must try to be witty tonight, Mr. Blake," Mary smiled rather wickedly. "After that we'll lower our expectations."

"The girls will show you up," added Lady Grantham, motioning up the stairs.

_I think one of them already has_, thought Evelyn.


	4. Welcome to Take Charge

Evelyn was aware of the chatter of the other diners, but Mary Crawley dominated his thoughts. She was sitting next to Charles, and Charles seemed to get perhaps a little too much amusement from antagonizing Mary. Evelyn wished he wouldn't do that. But Charles was Charles—he might be gentry himself, but he'd be damned if anyone dare take it for granted. But Evelyn knew Mary, knew all of the Crawleys, better than that, and a part of him wished that he could make Charles see that as well. These people were not the kind to just pack it in and call it a day.

"Your friend seems to be putting Mary through her paces."

Evelyn dragged himself back to the present moment; it wasn't easy. He smiled at Lady Grantham.

"I'm afraid Charles is challenged by anyone with a sense of entitlement." Evelyn kept his gaze on Mary as he spoke.

Lady Grantham seemed amused. "You mean Mary feels entitled to take charge."

_Well she's welcome to take charge of me. _

Evelyn felt Lady Grantham's hand on his arm as she chuckled. He froze, half a smile still on his face. He realized that he had spoken those words aloud. _Great. Now she thinks I'm a lecher who can't keep away from her bereaved daughter…and for some reason she finds this funny. _

Lady Grantham continued their conversation. "You ought to see the gardens while you're here. Mary could show you around, I'm sure." She pointed to the wall behind her. "There's an old Greek folly on the east grounds. It's just lovely, and the walk back to the house is quite grand."

_A walk in the gardens._ This took Evelyn back to his last visit to Downton, back before the war. He and Mary had practically been children then. He'd asked her to show him the gardens but she'd declined. Perhaps he could see them yet.

Perhaps—after all this time—Cora Crawley was still on his side.

The night was full of surprises. Lady Rose had booked a London band to play for Lord Grantham's birthday, and Evelyn was delighted to hear live jazz again. Certainly not something he'd expected to have his first night here.

He leaned over to Charles. "I told you this place could be progressive." Charles turned to him. "Hiring a jazz singer doesn't exactly help them turn a profit, Evelyn."

Evelyn sighed. There was no winning with him.

Mary spoke up, and it was then that Evelyn realized she may have heard their exchange. He winced a bit at this, but mostly he enjoyed hearing the melody of her voice as she spoke to his boss.

"You musn't be too discreet. After a while it gets a little dull." Charles grimaced at her words and walked away. Mary stepped over to Evelyn; his heart danced in his chest as she came closer. He couldn't help it.

"You seem to have brought a traitor into our midst." These were strong words, even for Mary. Evelyn turned to her in surprise.

"Not a traitor."

"An enemy then. He's obviously not on our side."

_Will they ever get along? These next few weeks may be _very_ long._ Evelyn longed to ask Mary to dance, but he didn't dare be so forward. It was too soon. He felt his affection for her growing stronger. But her heart, he knew, was still not open.

"I think I'll pay my respects to your grandmother."

Mary smiled warmly at him. "How kind of you."

With a nod, Evelyn walked away from Mary and took a seat next to the Dowager. "Is this your first experience of jazz, Lady Grantham?"

She seemed surprised to see Evelyn, but not displeased. "Oh, is that what it is?" He nodded.

"Do you think any of them know what the others are playing, hmm?"

Evelyn was speechless. He could certainly see where Mary had inherited her wit. "I don't suppose you'd care to dance?"

"I'll take you up on your challenge, Mr. Napier."

He kept the steps to a simple waltz. Evelyn knew better than to try any of newest dance crazes with her. But she was a delightful conversationalist. In a way, it was as if he was glimpsing at Mary fifty years into her future.

"I think we've done enough now," Lady Grantham said as she stopped dancing. "You know, to show that we're good sports."

Ah, so that's why she'd taken him on. Evelyn smiled. "Of course." He was all too aware of Mary dancing with her father as he walked her grandmother back to her chair. He thought he felt her eyes on him, and he fought the temptation to turn and look. However, he found that once he joined Charles near the fireplace he had a wonderful vantage point for observing her.

Evelyn wanted to pinch himself. How many times had he dreamed of this moment? Of Mary and dancing and Downton? He thought again of his conversation with her mother. Maybe, in time, his dream of Mary Crawley could come true, after all.


End file.
